


Worth Ten Minutes

by jfcmartin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jfcmartin/pseuds/jfcmartin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://marstheradplanet.tumblr.com/post/124802552153/more-au-ideas-no-one-asked-for">“I’m</a> a biker and one day I was biking in your neighborhood while you just happened to be outside watering the plants and since you’re so goddamn cute I accidentally steered into a pole and now you’re giving me first aid (holy shit you’re even cuter up close)” AU</p><p>John is ten minutes late for work, but that didn't stop him to take a little peek of his crush who lives further away from work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Ten Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> I know, the AU I based this from is literally far out and the only thing similar is "bike". But I was scrolling through a lot of Tumblr AU's and remembered that John rode a bike to work and hey this has a bike, and John has a bike! Hmm... Anyway here it is! As usual, nothing but the story is mine. Characters and idea isn't.
> 
> Thanks to [i-was-so-alone-and-i-o-u-so-much](http://i-was-so-alone-and-i-o-u-so-much.tumblr.com) for giving me suggestions! :D

John was late for work, as usual. Unfortunately, he decided to take the longer route to the hospital instead of taking a shortcut. It was his lame excuse to pass the house of this attractive man from the other neighborhood. His best mate, Mike Stamford, would ask him why he chose to cycle ten minutes longer, and John would shrug and say,

"It's a good exercise," and Mike would roll his eyes.

He first saw the man when he was going to Tesco. The one in his neighborhood shut down after an explosion; the police said it was caused by a busted circuit. When he rode his bike down the neighborhood, John saw him getting his mail.

John admitted, it was a very stalker-ish move of him. Why won't he grow the balls to walk up to him and introduce himself? It was something he constantly asked himself. But then again, what would be an introduction worse than, "Hello, I'm John Watson. I purposely pass by your neighborhood everyday to see you water your plants! Please don't call the authorities"?

John chuckled to himself as he cycled on the bike lane until the familiar bunch of houses made him realize that he was already in the neighborhood. Although the sun hasn't come up yet, the houses have radiated a soft glow that comforted him. He made his way along the quiet streets and finally saw the house he's been coming for.

John was guilty that he didn't even know the owner's name yet. He knew him as nothing more than "the man by the olive green house". However, that didn’t stop John from thinking about him almost every day, even at work. At least right now, his boss' scolding would be a good enough distraction to keep his mind off the man's soft curls and--

"Watch out!" John heard, but it was all too late. His front wheel hit a lamp post and it sent him lunging forward; his unprotected head drove right onto the post as well. He screwed his eyes shut as he fell on the pavement while gripping on the handles. John's head was throbbing and his left leg was stuck under his bike. _Great, now I'll be extra late for work,_ John thought.

He heard footsteps coming his way and a figure dropped by his side and tried to lift the bike away from him. He felt his bag being pulled off his back and for a second he thought he was being robbed. But when he felt gentle hands cupped his face, he realized that the person was actually helping him.

"Are you okay, sir?" the man asked. John slowly opened his eyes and looked at the man hovering over him. It was the man he’s been stalking for the past few months. John’s eyes widened and he hurriedly tried to stand up, but he felt a burning pain in his lower leg.

The man rolled his eyes and said, "You're obviously too late for work. You can't do anything about that. You scraped your leg on the pedals, of course it hurts."

John groaned and tried to sit on the edge of the pavement. The obnoxious rip on his trousers reminded him how stupid he was. He ran his hands on his hair and sighed. He faced the man and said, "Thanks for trying to warn me. I guess I wasn't looking. I'm John." As soon as his words escaped his lips, he regretted even telling them.

The man scoffed. "Sherlock Holmes. We better get you patched up. Come on," he stood up. "I’ve got a first aid kit." Sherlock walked away without even guiding him to his house. John slowly tried to stand up and limped his way towards Sherlock's house with his backpack slung on his shoulder. He dragged his bike along with him.

John mentally slapped himself. Out of all the possible ways he could introduce himself, falling over his bike wasn't on his list. He made his way through Sherlock's front lawn and entered through the door and left his bike on the front porch.

John saw Sherlock scurrying around the house, trying to tidy things up by stuffing a bunch of papers into a drawer and throwing things around. He raised his eyebrows with his useless attempt. For a person with a very immaculate and well-maintained garden, he didn't expect him to be quite messy inside. His garden was completely different; the grass was bright green and well trimmed, and an assortment of blooming flowers dotted the dull olive walls.

The interior was a complete mess. There were papers scattered everywhere, the furniture were probably a few years old. His kitchen, which was visible from where he stood, was occupied with many lab equipment. A see through cabinet above the sink was filled with jars. _Wait, is that a brain?_ John thought.

"Sorry 'bout that," Sherlock muttered. He gestured at the couch beside him and said, "Have a seat. I'll get the first aid--" He paused and his eyes widened.

"What's wrong?" John asked worriedly. Sherlock swiped his finger under his nose and John mirrored his action. He looked at his fingers and saw blood on them. "Oh."

Sherlock nodded and rushed to his kitchen to fetch a few paper towels and a first aid kit. John slumped on the couch as Sherlock took a large bowl from his dishwasher and filled it with water. He brought a clean dish cloth along with him and tried to balance all of them in both arms. John attempted to ignore the nagging voice in his head to break the silence, to say something witty. Given his situation, it was the only hope to save his reputation. But Sherlock beat him to it.

"Do you live around here?" Sherlock asked.

John cringed at the amount of blood dripping on his chin and said, "No. I actually live in Whitechapel."

Sherlock sat beside John and placed the bowl and first aid kit on the coffee table. He furrowed his eyebrows and said, "Really? That's about twenty minutes away from here. What makes you go here on your way to St. Bart's?"

 _Shit,_ John thought. "How did you know--?" His question trailing off as Sherlock leaned closer to him and patted the paper towel on his nose. He started wiping off the blood off John’s lips and chin with concentration. John watched him silently and tried to breathe steadily. In his defense, it was too hard not to hyperventilate when there was a very handsome man inches away from you and touching your face.

Sherlock leaned back when he finished and grabbed John’s injured leg and hoisted it up into his lap. He took the dish cloth and dunked it in the bowl. He wrung it and dabbed it gently on the large cut on John’s leg. He hissed and bit his lower lip.

"Your ID is sticking out of your bag,” he muttered. John almost forgot what the hell was he talking about. Sherlock proceeded to open the first aid kit to get a gauge and some tape to patch him up.

“Oh yeah,” John said in relief. “Well, I need the exercise.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “You worry about your job more than your appearance.” He said it more as a statement than a question. Of course, John realized he was very observant. Hopefully not observant enough to realize that he’s been whizzing through his street everyday to stalk him.

“Well, what can I do now?” John chuckled nervously. “I have cuts and bruises and am practically thirty minutes late.” Sherlock nodded, to show that he was listening. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I get sacked tomorrow.”

“Oh, you won’t,” Sherlock insisted. John chuckled at his optimism.

“Thanks, I guess.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Your boss won’t fire you because he or she fancies you.”

And John thought he was the stalker. “What?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious. “You tend to go to work ten minutes late since you take this route instead of taking a shortcut everyday. You should’ve been sacked a long time ago, but you weren’t. I also expect you perform rather poorly at work because you don’t get enough sleep--”

“Wait a minute,” John held a finger to shush him. “How do you know all this?” Sherlock finished up the patch he has been working on and rolled John’s trousers back down. He gently lifted his foot and lowered it to the ground.

He dusted off his lap and said, “I don’t ‘know’; I see. You have bags under your eyes and you just had your third cup of coffee.” Before John could ask another question, he added, “You have three different coffee stains on your sleeve; decaf, regular, and milked.”

John nodded, horrified by the accuracy of his deductions, and how observant he was. However, he believed that it was astounding how Sherlock could pick a few mundane details from you and develop a whole picture. It was something no one else could do but him. This special quality of his made John admire him more.

“I don’t see a better explanation why you still have your job. As I said, performance is not it, then there’s connections. Are you somehow related to your boss?”

John stuttered and his face grew red. He was embarrassed to say that he wasn’t paying the slightest attention to what he said; he was too distracted with his voice. He thought it was best to just shake his head and prayed that it was the right answer. Sherlock smirked, John wondered if it was a good thing.

“Of course not,” he looked bloody pleased with himself. He didn’t provide any further explanation.

John cleared his throat, grabbed his backpack and said, “Well, I better get going. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my boss or anything.” He mentally slapped himself. _That was it? Really?_ He thought.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, John following suit. _Should he ask for his phone number or something? Ask him out for a cup of coffee?_ He couldn’t make a decision so he started to walk away, being the coward that he is.

As if Sherlock read his mind, he said, “Erm, John?”

He turned around hopefully and said, “Yes?”

Sherlock’s eyes roamed around, trying to look anywhere besides John; it amused John. _Where was the intelligent Sherlock from five seconds ago?_ He cleared his throat and said, “Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?” He lowered his eyes and smiled sincerely.

Sherlock’s attempt to act innocent entertained him. John said, “I think its easy to deduce what I’m going to say, right?”

Sherlock’s innocent smile morphed into a smirk. “And I suppose deducing how eager you are to approach me every single day won’t be hard for me either?”

_Fucking bastard._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Kudos and comments are gladly appreciated.


End file.
